Nostalgia
by pinkdigi
Summary: To know where you are, you must remember where you've been.
1. one

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Nostalgia  
**……………………………………………………………

She was in the hospital. _There's been an accident_, they said. _You've got amnesia_, they said. But she could figure that much out for herself.

They claimed to be her parents, and she supposed she believed them, though she didn't particularly feel connected to either one. Still, she decided to trust them with this fact. Lying had no obvious rewards – though, for all she knew, she could be filthy rich and the ultimate target for two middle-aged thieves looking to rob her blind.

Or perhaps she was a princess. She quite preferred that idea.

'Hermione,' the woman, her mother, began. She winced at the name. Honestly, whose brilliant idea had _that _been? 'How are you feeling?'

'Fine,' she said. She seemed to be a good liar, at least. Her whole body felt tense and stiff, and her head felt like it was going to split in two. 'Could I have a mirror?'

Her mother appeared confused for several moments. It didn't seem to have occurred to her that Hermione would not be able to recall what she looked like.

Hermione studied her reflection. Brown hair, brown eyes. Nice cheek bones, beautiful teeth. She passed judgment on her face the way she would a stranger's, for that was who she was to herself currently, and decided that she was quite pretty.

'I've got pictures,' said her mother. She fumbled with her purse for a moment before passing over a wallet with several pictures inside.

The first picture was of a small girl with bushy hair. She assumed it was a younger version of herself, though she couldn't tell how long ago this photo had been taken. She did not know her current age. Based on her appearance in the mirror, it was obvious that she was no longer in high school. But how much older could she be? Three years? Five?

She examined the photos, all images of herself in various stages of life. She was sometimes posing with her parents, but mostly they featured herself alone. None of them seemed horribly recent and she wondered as to why that was. The edge of another photo was peeking out from behind the first one. She grasped the corner and pulled it out.

She was much older in this picture than in the others – at least three or four years older – and was standing between two handsome young men. The one on her right had messy, jet-black hair and a rather interesting scar on his forehead. The one on her left had red hair and a grin that made her stomach flip.

A name popped into her head, _Ron_, and with it, memories of a forgotten life returned to her in a flash that made the room spin.

……………………………………………………………

'Mum?' Ron called, stepping out of the fireplace. An owl had arrived, asking him to please come see his mother as soon as he could.

He went into the kitchen and found Molly Weasley holding a rather lengthy letter, which she immediately thrust toward him. 'This just came from Mrs Granger. It's about Hermione.'

Ron felt himself tense. It had all been so long ago, and he had not thought of her in quite some time. But the very mention of her name still affected him in a way that nothing else could. 'Hermione?' he muttered. 'Is she – I mean, is everything – what's it say?'

'She was in a car accident this morning,' his mum said. Ron felt his heart stop. 'She's fine, of course. Thank Merlin. But she has amnesia.'

Ron glanced down at Mrs Granger's fancy script. The words blurred before him. Connecting the dots on this seemed awfully hard to do. 'So Hermione was in a car accident and remembers nothing. Why is her mum writing to our family?'

'She's writing to _you_,' Molly said. 'Because it seems that Hermione remembers you.'

'What do you mean?' he asked, his eyes skimming the letter and absorbing none of it. 'Either Hermione's got amnesia or she can remember – which is it?

'She remembered just you, which brought on memories of Hogwarts and Harry and the rest of us,' explained Molly. 'She doesn't remember everything, though, and those Muggle doctors can't do very much to help her along. They said she just has to wait for everything to return. Her mother thinks it might be a good idea if she came to stay here for a little while, just to regain her bearings.'

Ron's head shot up in alarm. 'What?'

'Well … this is more complicated than you understand …'

'_Please_ tell me you didn't invite –'

A voice rang out from the other room. 'Hello?'

Ron glared at his mother. Molly at least had the grace to blush. 'In here, Hermione,' she called. Before she went to greet the new guest, she shot a look of warning to her son. 'Ronald, she doesn't remember what's happened with you two. She – she thinks you lot are still nineteen years old.'

This was impossible. This was not happening. Hermione Granger was not about to walk into his mother's kitchen thinking things were fine and good – not after _everything _that had happened. 'What?' he repeated for the millionth time this morning.

'As far as Hermione Granger is concerned, you and Harry Potter are still her best friends. She's in a very fragile state right now, and I absolutely forbid you from telling her the truth about anything.'

……………………………………………………………

The Burrow smelled wonderful. Just like home. Hermione could remember being there only a few days ago, yet it seemed as though several major changes had occurred without warning or reason. Had the table always been in this spot? And were the drapes always that colour?

Mrs Weasley rushed toward her and wrapped her up in a typical Molly hug. She looked at Ron over his mum's shoulder, expecting a similar greeting, but he just stared at her with the expression one wore when a severe emotion battle was playing out below the surface.

Ginny chose this moment to enter through the front door, and when her eyes fell on Hermione, she seemed awfully surprised. '_Hermione_,' she said stiffly. She seemed much older for some reason.

But Hermione, although seeing no reason for Mrs Weasley's too-tight hug or Ron's less-than-loving expression or Ginny's peculiar greeting, ignored these obvious signs. She would later wonder how she, the top witch in her class at Hogwarts, did not manage to see this for what it was.

'Hey, Gin,' she said.

Ginny smiled. She did nothing but smile. 'Mum,' she said tensely, and instead of breaking her grin, she awkwardly spoke through it. 'A word? In the other room? _Now_?' She and Mrs Weasley left the room speaking in hushed tones. Hermione turned her attention to Ron.

'Hey,' she said, going over to him. He did not wrap his arms around her or kiss her or ask if she was all right after her accident. She was missing something, and still she questioned nothing. She did not even wonder why she had been driving a car through Muggle London so early in the morning when she clearly should have been asleep in Ginny's room at The Burrow. She failed to realize that she did not, as far as she knew, even have a driver's license.

'Hi,' he said at last. 'How, um, are you doing?'

'I'm great.' She kissed him and he hardly even responded. 'Are _you _okay?' she asked. At his shrug, she looked at the empty table and added, 'Where's Harry?'

He stared at her with so much hurt, so much anger, and she still did not understand. Ginny and Mrs Weasley returned to the room, Molly with a tight smile and Ginny's face flushed in anger. Ginny looked at Hermione's position in Ron's arms and made a choking sound. But hadn't Ginny seen them kiss millions of times? Was she really _that _uncomfortable?

Hermione was distracted by the sound of the door opening. Harry, as if sensing that someone had been asking for his whereabouts, entered the kitchen. She caught the expression on Ginny's face and felt pity. Poor Ginny, was she still in love with Harry after all these years? Hadn't she and Ginny discussed this just the other week, and hadn't her friend stated that she was completely over the wizard in every way?

She watched as Harry entered and embraced Ginny in the exact way Hermione had expected from Ron when she'd come home. Her jaw dropped. What in the_ world_ was going on here? Mrs Weasley caught sight of Hermione's look and made to pull both Harry and Ginny out of the room.

'Morning, Harry,' Hermione said amusedly. She expected that her poor friend was about to get quite an intense round of questioning from Ginny's mother about their new relationship.

'Hey, Hermione,' Harry said absently as he struggled confusedly after Molly. He stopped suddenly and whipped around to look at her, shocked. 'Holy f—'

'_Now_,' Molly said sharply, tugging on his arm.

'Maybe I've got my brain a bit scrambled still,' said Hermione slowly, turning back to her boyfriend. 'But it sure seems like something strange is going on here today.'

'Nah,' said Ron. He didn't take his eyes off hers, but this wasn't the adoring look that he usually reserved for her. 'I, uh – Mum's making lunch. Are you hungry?'

……………………………………………………………

He couldn't do it. He couldn't sit across from her and watch her chew and swallow and push her hair behind her ear and smile and breathe and _be_. He couldn't. He had done many things in his life, but he could not do this.

Harry knew. Harry had always been good at sensing when Ron was at his breaking point. But Harry's hands were just as tied as his own today, and under the watchful gaze of Mrs Weasley, they could do nothing.

Even if Ron's mum wasn't there, what could he do? Hermione was in a fragile state, and even after everything, Ron could not do anything to intentionally hurt her. And Harry was in a better position than Ron, having not been wronged the way Ron had been. He was merely shocked at Hermione's returned and concerned for what emotional turmoil this was creating for his best friend. _He_ would not lay awake at night for weeks to come just because the sound of Hermione's laugh was a little fresher on his ears. This would not stop his world from continuing to turn the same way it had just yesterday. He took none of this personally.

And then there was Ginny, who took absolutely _everything_ personally.

'The weather's gorgeous today,' said Hermione. 'Want to go for a swim after we finish eating, Gin?'

'No,' said Ginny. She didn't look up from her plate. She did not even bother to swallow her food before answering.

'Okay,' said Hermione, unfazed. 'Maybe later, then?'

'No,' Ginny said again, harshly.

Hermione frowned in confusion. Ron looked down to hide his smile; Harry coughed. Mrs Weasley cleared her throat in warning.

'I'm full,' Ginny said, but she had hardly even touched her plate. 'I'll be in my room. Come get me when you're ready to leave, Harry.'

She left without glancing at Hermione, and Ron felt an unbelievable affection for his sister just then. Once upon a time, Hermione had been Ginny's closest friend and most trusted companion. But Hermione had hurt Ron rather badly. Clearly, for Ginny, that was enough.

Hermione looked up at Ron. She didn't understand Ginny's aggression, and she especially couldn't understand why it was being directed at her. He felt a strong sense of pity wash over him, and behind it came all of the feelings that always arose whenever he heard her name or stumbled upon an old photo of her mixed in with his other personal effects.

He tried to remember how it felt to be nineteen. He closed his eyes briefly and knew it all in an instant: the anxiety of a life after Hogwarts in which he had to choose a career and get a job; the excitement of getting a flat in London with Harry; and – most vividly – the feeling of Hermione's head on his shoulder at the end of the night.

He thought of the way they had been then, when Saturday afternoon Quidditch games with Harry and stolen moments with Hermione dictated his life. Back when it was unimaginable that he not only may not be with Hermione forever, but may not even be on speaking terms with her. The nineteen-year-old incarnation of himself would despise him, and he felt a sudden overwhelming obligation to the person he had once been.

He would bite his tongue and swallow his pride; he would pretend that all was right in the world. He would pretend that he was nineteen again, that life was prefect and that the future hung before them all, promising and limitless, as though he had no idea what the next few years could hold for them. He would do this because it was the right thing to do, because in some way or another he owed this to Hermione; because regardless of everything he said or thought, he was just as guilty as she.

……………………………………………………………

**The next chapter should be up shortly … **_**hopefully**_**.**

**Review!**


	2. two

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

Nostalgia  
……………………………………………………………

Hermione lay on her bed in Ginny's room, and although Mrs Weasley had advised her to sleep, she could not quiet her mind long enough to do so. Something was wrong, even in here. She felt as though the answer was right in front of her face, but she couldn't pinpoint it. The entire household seemed to be acting strangely, but surely it wasn't possible that everyone else was odd and she was normal. She had to have been the one acting differently. Had the accident jostled her brain more than anyone had realized?

That thought was somewhat worrisome. She'd been in a Muggle hospital. She'd never doubted the capability of Muggle medicines before, but … what if …?

Mrs Weasley had told Hermione to stay in the kitchen and had gone up to Ginny's room for several minutes before coming back down and allowing her to go upstairs. What had she done in here? She had to admit that something was different. She tried to think of yesterday, of how the house had looked then. She could not draw a clear mental picture. Why couldn't she remember the events of yesterday or the day before? Was it a side-effect? Would her memory return to her in due time? What if it didn't?

She couldn't sleep; her head was too full. There was no use in lying alone in bed on a beautiful day. She went back downstairs and found Ron standing in close conversation with a blonde woman whom she did not recognize. The woman noticed Hermione's entrance and cleared her throat. Her entire demeanor shifted, and as soon as Ron turned and caught sight of Hermione, his did as well. What was going on?

'Hello,' said Hermione. What she really meant was, _my, you're awfully cozy with my boyfriend, aren't you_? For emphasis, she went over and linked her arm with Ron's. The blonde stared at this for an instant in uncomfortable shock before recovering.

'Yes, hello,' she said. 'How are you feeling? I heard about the accident. Everything all right?'

Hermione smiled politely and looked to Ron for explanation. 'This is Catherine,' he said. 'She's, uh, a friend of Ginny's.'

Hermione glanced back at the woman and knew instantly that this could not be true. This woman was older than she, and certainly was no friend of Ginny's. Hermione knew all of Ginny's friends personally. Even if that was not true, wouldn't she, at the very least, have known her from Hogwarts enough to recognize her?

'Nice to meet you,' said Hermione. She shook Catherine's hand and noticed a ring sitting on her fourth finger. 'Oh, that's lovely.'

Catherine thanked her. Ron, blushing, promptly changed the subject. Hermione pondered this for a moment, wondering if perhaps Ron was embarrassed because he would never be able to afford a ring like that for her.

'How is everything going in here?' Mrs Weasley asked as she entered the room. 'Everything all right, dear?'

Hermione went to answer, and was caught off guard with the realization that Mrs Weasley was addressing Catherine, not her.

'Just fine,' said Catherine. 'I should be going, actually. I stopped by to see Ginny …' Her voice went up at the end, as if she were questioning her own speech, and she seemed to look to Ron for confirmation.

'Right,' said Ron. He untangled himself from Hermione and moved toward Catherine. 'Well, I'll … let her know you stopped by. Can I walk you out?'

Since when was Ron so polite?

'I'm fine,' Catherine said coolly. 'It was nice to finally meet you, Hermione.' Hermione's features must have betrayed her confusion at this, because the woman quickly followed up with, 'Ginny's said great things about you, I mean. It's nice to put a face to the name.' She left quickly, nearly tripping over herself on her way to the door.

'Strange one,' Hermione muttered. Ron gave her a look, but she couldn't understand why, or what it meant.

She decided that today was not the day for her to attempt to figure any of this out. If everyone around here were up to something, it would come out within a few hours anyway. If she were the one with the problem, stressing over it wouldn't help to alleviate it. The best thing for her to do was to push it all out of her mind.

'Could we go for a walk?' she asked him.

Perhaps she was overreacting, but he looked nervous at the idea of being alone with her. 'Sure,' he said. He began to move toward the door; then, as if remembering himself, reached out and awkwardly took her hand before continuing.

She breathed in the fresh fall air and blinked against the sunlight. She looked over her shoulder at The Burrow and found that the sight of it caused her footsteps to halt.

'Something wrong?' asked Ron.

Many things were wrong, but she couldn't even begin to explain this to him. 'I just feel like everything's a little different than it should be,' she said, unsure of how to properly communicate her thoughts. 'Like your house. Looking at it … it's almost as if I haven't seen it in years. But I was here yesterday, and the day before that …' A ridiculous doubt entered her mind, and she could not keep it inside. She could come to Ron with this; he, if no one else, could be trusted to tell her the truth. 'I was, wasn't I?'

He surveyed her for what felt like several minutes. 'Of course you were,' he said. His voice broke, but it seemed like that wasn't the only thing breaking. 'Where else would you be, Hermione?'

……………………………………………………………

Keeping up this charade was not only taxing on Ron. If he were the only one having to act as though he were eighteen again, her would grin and bear it for as long as was required. But Hermione expected the rest of his family to be just as she remembered them. That meant that Ginny, who resented Hermione more than anyone else, was forced to spend her nights sleeping in her childhood bedroom with her. He and Harry had to bunk together in Ron's too-orange room, and he could not understand for his life how he had managed to life in a space so severely coloured for so long without going blind.

He was not sure how much longer they could continue this act. Hermione had seemed very suspicious at first – so much so that Ron had nearly told her the truth, assuming she was on the brink of it anyway. But she gradually reacquainted herself with The Burrow, and all doubts that she had subtly expressed in her first few days here had disappeared entirely.

He would be lying if he said that he did not enjoy passing his days this way. Hermione would always be Hermione, regardless of how much time had passed or how many things had gotten between them. Hours, even days, were slipping by with hardly any notice as he sat up with his best mates, playing chess and joking about Malfoy as though it had been mere weeks ago that they'd been at Hogwarts. To Hermione, of course, it had been.

'Honestly!' Hermione muttered after a particularly colourful sentence spilled out of Ron's mouth during an intense chess match between the two. 'Sometimes I can't believe I let you kiss me with that awful mouth of yours.'

Ron heard an awkward cough come from somewhere behind him and shifted to see Catherine in the doorway. 'Oh,' he said, getting to his feet and flushing instantly.

'Sorry,' said Catherine uncomfortably. 'I was just looking for Ginny.'

If Hermione noticed either Ron's obvious panic or the sympathetic looks Harry was giving Catherine, she did not comment on them. Instead, she cheerfully said, 'Ginny's out back with George,' and made her next move on the chessboard.

Catherine regarded her for a moment with neither resentment nor dislike, and then left without another word. Ron stood and followed her without concern for what Hermione might think, and as he left the room, he could already hear Harry coming up with a half-arsed excuse.

'Catherine,' he said. But she would not slow down until she was outside, and by the time she turned to face Ron, she was nearly in tears.

'I can't,' she said slowly, pronouncing each syllable carefully, and Ron knew that she was trying her best not to cry. 'I can't compete with her.'

'Compete?' he said, caught completely off guard. He had expected her to have many complaints about this situation, but the idea that she felt she had to compete with Hermione was laughable. There was no competing – no _comparing_ the two women. They were different in nearly every way, but Ron could not imagine a way for himself to properly explain this to Catherine. He held Hermione Granger in a very high regard; it was no secret. But just because Catherine was not like Hermione did _not _mean she was any less important to him, or any less wonderful. The two women were merely … different. She possessed many of the qualities that Ron had always unconsciously wished for Hermione to have, but he knew better than to say this in such a crude way.

'I thought I would be okay with this,' Catherine began. She unconsciously twisted the ring on her fourth finger as she spoke, her eyes glued to the ground. 'I thought – I mean, I'm not an idiot. I know that you once loved her very much. And I know that you two – and Harry, of course – have been through some unimaginable things together. I know that there will always be a soft spot for Hermione Granger in your heart, which is why I didn't say anything when you told me her situation and how you needed to help. But it seems like the more time you spend with her, the more you want to just slip back into that life you used to have together. You – you're perfectly content to just pretend the last four years never happened. Like everything she did to you never happened. I don't understand it, and I'm not okay with it.'

'I haven't forgotten everything that happened between Hermione and me,' said Ron defensively. 'I remember all the bad feelings, all the wasted time. But that girl in there … _that _Hermione has never done anything to me. There was a time when you would've been right. There was a time when I would've been more than willing to live this charade forever. But that time is over, and I've moved on – with _you_. You don't have to be okay with this, and you certainly don't have to be silent about the fact that you're not … but you _do _have to realize that I can't just turn my back on her.'

'What happened to you two?' asked Catherine. It was a question she had never brought up before, and one to which Ron had never offered answers.

'What do you mean?' he asked, seeing where this conversation was headed and unsure if he wanted to let it get there. Four years had done a lot, but it had not healed this particular wound.

'You loved her,' she said. Her voice was not accusing or upset, and Ron had never respected her more. 'I've seen the old pictures and notes. I've heard Molly tell the stories. The kind of love that you two had doesn't just go away on its own. So if you're standing here telling me that you've moved on and won't look back … well, I'm going to need a little more than just that, if I'm expected to believe you.'

Ron took a deep, steadying breath. Before Hermione showed up at The Burrow a few weeks ago, he had not thought of her in ages. He had not _allowed _himself to think of her. It was painful, even now, to remember how everything had gone south for them so quickly and effortlessly.

'We were just kids,' Ron said. 'Voldemort was gone and Harry was fresh out of the hospital. We had the rest of our lives to look forward to … and Merlin, we could've done anything. Everyone wanted a piece of us. We could've been Aurors or Curse Breakers or Unspeakables. We could've written books on our experiences, or taught at Hogwarts, or done absolutely nothing at all and still been the golden boys and girl of the Wizarding world.'

The sun was bright in his eyes and he was blinking twice as much as Catherine. He really did not want to talk about this. Not now, when Hermione could be looking out the window at them, wondering what was going on.

But it was exactly _that_ kind of thinking that Catherine had taken issue with. Perhaps she was right to feel threatened, to feel that she couldn't compete with Hermione Granger. Hermione and Ron had been through so much, and even despite the awful history between them, he could not manage to forget her completely or to hold any strong negative feelings for her at all.

'Hermione got a job offer in Australia,' he continued. 'Working in Muggle relations and protection … or some such rubbish … and she took it.' He could still picture the letter in his mind's eye, and the delighted expression on Hermione's face as she told him about the position she'd been offered. 'I tried to be supportive, but it was obvious that I wasn't thrilled with her leaving. She told me to come with her, but I couldn't. My whole family was here. Harry and I had just gotten a flat together in London, and I'd been offered a great job at the Ministry …'

_I was selfish_, he thought. _I thought in terms of my life, not _our _life_. And on the heels of that thought came another– _she was selfish, too_.

'We tried to make it work between us,' he went on. 'And it did, for the first little while. But, gradually, things began to change. We didn't owl each other as often, and she stopped coming back to London when she got time off. Once, when I got a long weekend, I went to Romania to visit Charlie instead of to Australia for Hermione. She sure wasn't happy about that, I'll tell you. We didn't speak for a week. That was how we were, though, you've got to understand. We fought over anything and everything. Drove Harry nuts when we were growing up, I bet. So this fight … it hadn't seemed any different to me, at first.'

'At first?' asked Catherine.

Ron cleared his throat. 'Hermione switched departments while she was in Australia, and she met someone down there. Don't know his name to this day … I never asked. Don't want to know, really. But he was a Muggleborn too, and cared about all the same things she did. He never gave her a hard time about how many books she read, or because she called it a Wonky Faint instead of a Wronski Feint. And she developed feelings for him. That's how she said it in her letter, at least.' He paused, aware that his voice was shaking but unable to control it. 'She – she said it in a letter. I didn't understand at first. One little fight about a weekend in Romania with my brother, and next thing you know, she's writing me letters about some other bloke?'

'And you just – you broke up? Over _that_?'

Ron shook his head. 'It wasn't just that. It was a million things like that, one after the other, until she just couldn't take it anymore. And it hadn't fazed me at all. I used to think she just gave up on us a lot easier, but now I realize I wasn't as bothered because I had already stared to pull away from her myself.' He glanced up at The Burrow, curious to know if Harry and Hermione were watching. It was easier, somehow, to say these things without an audience. 'In her letter, she said that there was more to life than just the two of us, and that she wanted to experience it,' he recalled. He could remember it so vividly – the curvature of her handwriting, the feel of the rough parchment as he balled it up in his fist. He could not discuss this any further. 'I was crushed at first. I thought I'd never get over it. But I did.'

'I don't understand … you still loved each other –'

'Maybe we did,' said Ron. He wasn't sure what the truth was anymore. 'Or maybe being with each other was all we really knew how to do.'

'But why is that such a bad thing?' said Catherine. 'I mean … you've been through so much …'

'Yeah,' Ron agreed. 'We have. I can – I can stand here forever, naming off all the things Hermione and I have shared … all the things I'll never be able to forget. But there comes a point when ties to the past can't hold two people together anymore, and we reached it. We reached it years ago. By the time we were ready to admit that it was over between us, it had been a long time since we'd had anything to say to each other that didn't start with _remember when_.'

'So you broke up and went your separate ways?' questioned Catherine. She could not seem to grasp this, just as Ron had struggled with the idea of it several years previous.

'Hermione and I were never simple, and after everything, we couldn't be friends. Not good friends, at least – not the kind that we should've been, the kind we deserved to have in each other. I wanted to try, but I think – I think she just wanted to stop wasting time and get on with her life.'

'And what did she do?'

'She got on with it, I assume, just like she'd wanted to,' said Ron vaguely. He had no idea what Hermione had done with herself after their break-up. He hadn't heard from her in years. 'Until', he added, gesturing toward The Burrow, 'this happened.'

……………………………………………………………

Ron took a long shower after his conversation with Catherine. He found that he did some of his best thinking in the shower, but today his system failed him. He stayed under the hot spray until his skin was pink and the whole room was steamed, but he could not sort out his feelings and he could not make sense of any of this.

He dressed and went down to the kitchen. It was empty except for Hermione, who was making a sandwich the Muggle way. 'There you are,' she said when he came into view. 'Trying to turn into a prune, love? Even Ginny's showers are shorter than that!'

He smiled but said nothing. She gestured for him to sit at the table, and although he had no desire to stay in her presence, he obeyed. It was unsettling, really, how it was second nature for him to do as she asked.

'You know what I was thinking about just now?' she asked. 'That day at the lake, right after Harry got out of the hospital. Merlin, that was a good day. Do you remember?' As she spoke, she put the sandwich on a plate and set it down in front of him. It was the same kind she used to always make for him, and it made him feel slightly sick. Everything he'd told Catherine had been true – they'd been in a rut, a horrible routine stuck in the past, and now he was living it all over again. How had it taken them so long to notice it the first time around?

What had he done to deserve this? He hated this stupid game he was being forced to play. He hated that he couldn't tell Hermione the truth. And on the tail of this thought came the realization that he was withholding the truth for all the wrong reasons. If it were him, he would not want to be kept in the dark like this, no matter what the doctors recommended. And although he had not seen or spoken to Hermione in years, she was still Hermione, and when it came down to it, they were of the same kind. She would also want to know, and she deserved to know.

Yet he did not want to tell her. He wanted to be in control of her, for once in his life. He could not shake from his mind the idea that she was punishing him for something unknown. This situation was not her fault – of course she hadn't _planned _to be in an accident – and he knew this on the most basic, logical level. But somewhere in the deepest, innermost part of himself, he still blamed her for this and for everything else. There were so many things he'd never had the chance to say to her before, and had never thought he'd get the chance to say again. He had bottled it all up inside so many years ago, and it remained there to this day. Looking at her now, he felt the full weight of it all and he could not contain it any longer.

'You aren't nineteen,' he said.

She looked at him blankly for a moment, almost as if he hadn't spoken. 'Are you feeling okay?' she asked him.

'I'm fine. It's you who isn't, Hermione.'

She did not roll her eyes or laugh or call him an idiot, as the old Hermione would have. Instead, she locked her eyes on his. He saw her knuckles turning white where she held on to the chair, and he realized that she already suspected something was wrong. Of course she had. Hermione was too brilliant to be fooled by a bunch of Weasleys, wasn't she?

'What do you mean?' she asked. The worry in her voice made him ache.

'You're twenty-three. I'm not supposed to tell you that, but there you go. You think you lost your memory and then got it back, but you didn't. Not all of it. You can't remember the last four years … and I'd love to help you out and fill in those missing pieces, but I can't because I haven't seen or spoken to you in nearly that long. But I'm not supposed to have told you that, either.'

'Why are you doing this?' she asked him. 'Ron –'

'Didn't you wonder what the hell you were doing in Muggle London? Driving around?' he said. 'It didn't seem strange to you?'

……………………………………………………………

Muggle London. Why the bloody hell would she have been in a car in Muggle London? It should have been her first clue, and yet it had not even occurred to her. Now that he pointed it out, it seemed impossible to explain.

'You came into town because the Ministry was giving you some award,' he explained. 'Something about your work with Muggle relations – I don't really know, to be honest. I just remember Mum talking about reading it in the paper.'

'You don't even know what I do?' Was she really asking this? Surely this was not a legitimate question. He had to be joking. George had to have put him up to this – threatened to give him hell in one way or another if he didn't go along with this practical joke of his.

'It's kind of hard to follow when you're halfway across the world and I have no way of contacting you,' he muttered. He sounded so jaded, not at all like her Ron.

She looked at him – really _looked_ at him – and she saw everything that had been, quite literally, staring her in the face this whole time. More lines around his mouth. Shorter hair. He had shaved that morning and already had a bit of scruff growing back. His eyes seemed different somehow; older, tired, with heavier bags. This was not the face of an eighteen year old boy. He was a man of nearly twenty-three, a man who had loved her and lost her and moved on with his life.

She swallowed hard, and everything she had been ignoring suddenly revealed itself. 'Catherine is your fiancée, isn't she?'

Ron said nothing.

'Ron,' she pleaded, though she didn't know what she was pleading for anymore. Her hands shook so fiercely that the chair she was holding began to move slightly. Surely this wasn't true. Ron couldn't belong to someone else. 'How could you –?'

'_How could I_?' he demanded, the words bursting out with more aggression than even she had ever known Ron to have. He leapt up, towering over her with all six feet and four inches. She could think of few times she had felt more intimidated, and each of those memories included Voldemort. 'You're one to talk, Hermione.'

She could not begin to fathom all of this. She lived halfway across the world, with a life entirely separate from everyone she loved. Ron was not hers. He belonged to another woman. A few weeks ago – or what felt like a few weeks ago, to her, with this damaged memory – they'd been in love. Probably too in love for their own good. How could that be gone now? How could Ron be _engaged _to someone who was not her? How could he be about to commit to spending the rest of his life with a woman who was utterly wrong for him, if only because she was not Hermione?

He dove straight into the story of their demise, and she somehow managed to keep her tears at bay. She listened to his words and found herself unable, or perhaps unwilling, to believe them. This person he was describing could not have been _her_. She knew her love for Ron better than she knew anything else, and it was not the kind of thing that would fade in this lifetime or even the next.

He ended his story and looked at her, his eyes searching hers for something. He did not find what he needed in her expression, and so he left her without another word. She stared after him blankly, unable to digest his version of events. Even though she could not accept this truth, she knew that it was because of something within herself, and not because Ron had lied. Ron would not lie to her over such an important issue, especially since she could get her memory back at any moment and realize he'd done so.

She wanted to bring him back so they could talk and yell and cry. She wanted to sort through this and move past it and go back to being them. She did not care that he had a fiancée. Surely he couldn't love this Catherine woman as much as he loved her. She could not ever imagine feeling for someone the way she felt for Ron Weasley.

She opened her mouth to call out to him, but before the words could form, a name appeared in her mind just as clearly as Ron's had weeks ago in the hospital. _Jonathan_.

The memories did not flood back to her the way memories of Ron had, but the spark of … something … at the base of her spine told her that this was an important clue. She closed her eyes and tried to remember this man, but all she could picture was Ron's expression when he'd walked out on her.

……………………………………………………………


	3. three

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**  
Nostalgia  
**……………………………………………………………

Ron sat in his old bedroom and waited, unsure of whether or not he wanted Hermione to come up. When he eventually heard her soft approaching footsteps, he sighed and closed his eyes. 'I shouldn't have told you,' he said as she came in behind him.

'You should have,' she argued. 'You should have told me the day I got here, actually.'

His next words – and the anger behind them – appeared before he had even a chance to register them. 'You never wrote,' Ron said, turning around to face her. 'Four years and you never wrote once.'

'It would have hurt too much,' she told him. 'We both said some things … I didn't think you would've wanted to hear from me.'

'Maybe you were right,' he said. 'Maybe I wouldn't've wanted to. Maybe I would've gotten the letter and never opened it. But you never gave me the option, Hermione. You just ended it and never looked back. I thought I deserved better than that.'

'Ron –'

'After everything we'd been through – and that's a bloody LOT, in case you haven't managed to remember yet – I thought I at least deserved to be your friend. I thought you'd _want _us to stay friends. But you didn't care at all. I mean, didn't you ever stop to wonder how I was? How Mum was? Or Harry?'

'Of course I did,' she argued. Her eyes were full of tears, and he was glad for it. 'I wondered all the time. But I had a new life, Ron, and I couldn't make it work if I still held onto my old one with you.'

He looked at her through narrowed eyes, and it shocked him at how much anger still remained inside of him – anger he had never acknowledged until now. They had argued, yes, and he had not been as supportive as he could've been when she left, but those were not grounds for Hermione to stop loving him. The fact that it had only taken a new job in a new country to make her outgrow him made him angry and unsettled in the worst way. How could he have been so replaceable to her when surely nobody would ever compare to her in his mind? It made him feel as though their whole past had been a lie from which he could not move forward; how could he be expected to look out into the horizon while the mountain on which he stood was crumbling underfoot?

'I guess,' he said, 'it was hard for me to understand – and is still hard for me to understand – because there was nothing in the world that could've made me stop loving you, you know? But it took nothing for you. I was picturing my life fifty years in the future and seeing you beside me, but to you I was just someone to pass a little time with.'

'That's not true,' she said softly.

'That's how it felt.'

'Didn't you ever think that there was something more to life than what we had?' she asked him.

'We were standing still,' he said. 'I know that things between us weren't the greatest when you got your job offer, but the way I see it, you had two choices: stay and work on us, or run away and let things completely fall apart. You ran away.'

'Sometimes, when we fought, didn't you think _wow, I bet there's a girl out there who would rather have a round of Quidditch in the backyard than sit inside reading a stuffy book_?'

'Yeah,' he admitted, 'sometimes that kind of stuff crossed my mind. When it came down to it, though, being with you made me happy. That was all I knew.'

'And being with you was all I knew, too,' she said. 'But was that reason enough to stay together? It wasn't good enough for me, and it shouldn't have been good enough for you, either. I wasn't running away from my old life, I was running toward my new one. You've got to take a risk to get a reward. You taught me that.'

'I didn't realize at the time that my own lesson would screw me over so much.'

She smiled sadly and turned away from him, looking around his room. 'It's exactly as I remembered it,' she said after a moment of silence.

'Er, yeah. Mum's kept all of our rooms as little shrines, actually. Except Fred and George's, but that's only because half their belongings started blowing up or letting off a terrible smell after a while.'

She giggled. He loved how easy it was to be with her, and how quickly they could go from screaming at each other to casually talking. He loved their history. Catherine got on very well with his family, but she would never understand them the way Hermione, who practically grew up alongside him at The Burrow, did. He wished they could be friends, thought it would be rather nice to have her around for holidays and special events, but knew that it couldn't happen that way. Too many bridges had been burned, and Ginny alone was unforgiving enough to keep Hermione far away. Besides, Catherine was his future, and even Hermione would not ruin that.

'Ron,' she said quietly. He turned and saw her standing at his bookshelf, holding an ancient copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ in her hands and gazing at it lovingly. He felt uncomfortable with the fact that he'd kept her book, and even more now that she knew he'd done so. 'Do you really think we could've lasted forever?'

He didn't know what he thought. It was pointless to speculate either way. 'What I think – what I _know_,' he said, 'is that I would've done anything for you.'

……………………………………………………………

Ginny walked in as Hermione was packing up. 'You're leaving?' she asked.

'I have to,' answered Hermione. 'I'd like to stay longer … but it's time to get back to real life.'

'Think you'll ever come back?'

Hermione could not tell which answer Ginny wanted or expected. Her tone was flat and her features were unreadable. Hermione knew better than to lie to this girl, and so after a long silence, she said, 'I don't think there's anything here for me anymore.'

'I get it,' she said. Instantly, Hermione realized that she had done something wrong. 'You know … you and Ron broke up, and I never heard from you again. At first I was confused, but I tried to make excuses. I told myself you were upset over your break up – that you needed time, and that you wanted to give Ron time, too. But then half a year went by and I didn't hear from you once.' She looked down at her hands and let Hermione in on the real reason she had been so frigid: 'I thought we were friends, you know. I thought I was more to you than your boyfriend's little sister, but that was wrong of me, wasn't it?'

'Oh, Ginny,' Hermione said, feeling like she was scum. 'That's not –'

'No letters to say you were doing well, or to ask about Harry and me,' Ginny continued. 'No cards on birthdays or at Christmastime or even Mother's Day. And I don't understand how you could be so ungrateful and rude. _We took you in_. Mum and Dad treated you like one of their own … we all did. It was impressive how quickly you forgot that.'

'My memory might not be perfect, but I don't recall getting any cards from you either, Ginny,' Hermione said defensively.

'Fred, George, Percy and I all celebrated birthdays before you, and none of us got any sort of birthday wishes. Of course we didn't send you any in return. But Mum wanted to. She got a card and wrote you a note, saying a lot of nice things that only Mum would say to someone as undeserving as you. She put it in a pretty little envelope and wrote your name across it in her neatest handwriting. Then she gave it to me, asking to send it out with Pig. So I took it, and I ripped it up.'

Hermione didn't know what to think. She did not feel she deserved Ginny's aggression … but at the same time, she knew that she certainly had not deserved Mrs Weasley's kindness.

'Fred married Angelina. And Charlie has a daughter. Did you even know? '

'Nobody told me,' she said weakly.

'You didn't ask.'

'I don't want to fight with you, Ginny,' she said.

'Three nights ago, you asked Ron why I hated you,' said Ginny. 'So I'm telling you why.'

Hermione was shocked that Ron had betrayed her confidence and told Ginny what they had discussed. But when she really thought about it, she knew she had no right to be mad. There had been a time when Ron's loyalty had been to Hermione first and to everyone else second … but many years had passed since then, and she ranked no higher than a stranger to him now.

'You loved my brother very much,' added Ginny. 'Don't think I don't know that. I'm sure ending things with him was one of the hardest decisions you've ever had to make. But when Harry and Ron stopped speaking in fourth year, Harry was still polite to the rest of our family. If Harry and I broke up right now, or if he and Ron had some giant falling out and never spoke again, he would still stop by on Mum's birthday to bring her flowers. He would _at least _have the decency to respond when she sent him notes and sweaters.'

'Ginny –'

'You disappointed me,' she said flatly. 'You disrespected my family, you deserted Harry, and you _destroyed_ Ron. I won't forget that. And I cannot forgive you now or ever, whether you're able to understand that or not.'

Hermione wasn't sure how much more of this speech she could listen to, but she knew she could not walk away from Ginny now. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall. She knew that Ginny wasn't safe enough for that.

'I can see where you're coming from,' she said, though she wasn't sure if she was telling the truth or just trying to appease Ginny. 'I can't say I like it, but I do understand your anger. It's three years too late, but I apologize and I wish I could go back and conduct myself differently. The last thing I ever wanted to do was disrespect your family, and whether you believe it or not, you were _so _much more than my boyfriend's little sister. You were the closest female friend I had, and the only person I will ever think is good enough for Harry. But I get that too much has happened and I can't undo all the pain I've caused around here … which is why I have to leave.'

'You're walking out now to fix the problems you caused by walking out back then?'

It wasn't a question, and regardless, Ginny left before Hermione had a chance to answer.

……………………………………………………………

Hermione wondered where Jonathan was. Her parents, who adored Jonathan, had surely contacted him the moment they had any news. And she was sure that he was staying away out of both concern for Hermione's progress and respect for the Weasley family, of whom she always spoke very highly to him. It would be in terrible form for her to contact him and invite him here to collect her, but at the same time, she wanted to see him as soon as possible. She wanted to leave The Burrow and get on with her life, and she was sure they were more than ready to get on with theirs, too.

She felt so incredibly guilty for her recent actions. She had been going around all week acting like Ron's girlfriend, holding his hand and kissing him, telling herself that his stiff hesitation was only due to his concern for her healing injuries. It was so awkward to think of Catherine; all along, this woman had been turning the other cheek while Hermione unintentionally came on to her fiancé. Her stomach twisted into a knot at the thought of the word fiancé. Ron had not been hers for quite some time, and she did truly want him to be happy, but it was much easier to feel that way when happiness did not have a name and a beautiful diamond ring.

Her love for Ron had been preserved for years, protected under glass. To remove that glass would be to ruin everything they'd had. She could admit that thinking about Ron often caused her pain, but to not think of him at all was much worse; to look back and remember him negatively would be unfathomable. Ron had been her world for so long. He was perhaps the one person who knew her true self. But that was not always a good thing. Jonathan had been her fresh start; she could be anyone and anything she wanted with him.

What was she doing, feeling jealous of Ron and Catherine, when she had a perfectly lovely man of her own back home in Australia? She had no business feeling this out of sorts. She knew that Jonathan was the one for her; why else would she have stayed with him when it meant sacrificing every other relationship that had ever meant anything to her?

She had gone to Australia feeling excited, feeling like the world was at her fingertips. But when she'd arrived, she only felt alone and depressed. Everyone she cared about was back in England, and she began to wonder why she had ever wanted to leave all of them to go work for the Australian Ministry. It was an excellent opportunity, but there were also wonderful opportunities right in London.

She spent her first two weeks away in the same routine – she would get up, go straight to work, come straight home, and spend the evenings alone in her new, unfamiliar flat. She was too focused on training to make connections at work, and had no desire to go explore her new surroundings alone. She'd wished for Ron's company; he had always been excellent at interacting with new people and new places.

But she had been determined to stick it out. She had come to Australia independently, somewhat against Ron's wishes, and she was too proud to quit and go crawling back so soon. And so even though she could travel from Australia to England with magic in no time, she had stayed away. Despite her desire to know all about what was happening at The Burrow, she wrote only once every few days. If she had any hope of moving forward, she could not keep glancing back.

Eventually, she grew more comfortable at the Ministry and made a few terrific friends. Jonathan had been one of those friends. One night, after she and a group of co-workers had gone for a drink after work, he'd kissed her on the walk home. She'd pulled away, told him he was out of line, and stormed off. She'd avoided him at work for weeks after the incident, never interacting with him for longer than her job required. She told herself the guilt she felt was because she had a boyfriend, but really, the guilt was something else entirely. She'd pulled away that night because it was the right thing to do, but not because she had wanted to.

Admitting this to herself caused her to panic. She had never had feelings like this for anyone but Ron, and didn't know what had gotten into her. She chalked it up to the distance, both physically and emotionally, that she'd been experiencing with Ron lately. She was not the kind of woman who cheated, especially on a boyfriend as wonderful as hers. Determined not to let this situation worsen, she Floo'd to The Burrow, knowing he spent weekends there and hoping to surprise him. Hermione was the one who was surprised, though, when Mrs Weasley informed her that Ron was on holidays and had gone to visit Charlie in Romania.

She'd stood there feeling like a fool in front of Mrs Weasley. How could Ron have gone to Romania instead of coming to visit her? She'd sat at home countless nights just wishing for a break in their hectic schedules so they could be together, but clearly she was the only one feeling this way. Didn't he miss her? If _he'd _been the one getting kissed by a co-worker, would he pull away? Would he feel guilty and worried and just terrible in general over a drunken peck on the lips that meant hardly anything?

_I'm sure it was a misunderstanding, dear, _Mrs Weasley had said. But there was no misunderstanding this. And as Hermione looked around the kitchen of The Burrow, she saw just how much things had changed since she'd been gone. The drapes were a different colour, and now that only Ginny lived at home, the table was slightly smaller and in a more convenient spot. She wondered how many other details had been changed. Did Ron's room still look like Ron's room? Were her books still on the shelves where she'd left them?

'Hermione!' she heard someone call out. Turning around, she saw Harry and Ginny coming in from outside. Ginny rushed over to hug her, and noticed Harry's expression turn before he, too, greeted her.

'What're you doing here?' he asked. He obviously knew of Ron's decision to visit Charlie rather than Hermione, and judging by his demeanour, neither he nor Ron had ever expected that she'd find out. How many other secrets would Harry keep for Ron?

'I came to see Ron,' she said. 'What are you doing here? Friday night … shouldn't Harry Potter be out on a date or something?'

Harry winked and nodded in Ginny's direction. 'Yeah, that was the plan. But _someone _forgot to feed Arnold so we had to swing by here before going to dinner.'

Hermione was puzzled for a moment. 'Wait – are you two –?'

'For a few weeks now. Didn't Ron tell you?' Ginny asked.

He hadn't, and she wasn't sure what to make of that. Surely he knew that Harry dating Ginny was something worth mentioning?

'Your brother doesn't tell me a lot of things, apparently,' she said, no longer able to feign happiness. 'But I should be heading home. Lots of paperwork waiting for me, you know.'

She left without much hesitation, and waited until she was safely back in her own flat before she cried. How many other changes had taken place without her knowing? How many other things was Ron not telling her about? As she lay in her bed that night, unsuccessfully trying to clear her mind and sleep, she realized that her life was in Australia now. Going around crying about things she had no control over, and people who clearly had already begun to forget about her, would do her no good. It was an awful feeling to know that the last eight years of her life had to be pushed aside to make room for a new chapter, but at the same time, it gave her strength. She didn't need Ron. In fact, she'd been doing rather well without him.

The next night, she went to dinner with Jonathan. And when he went to kiss her goodnight, she did not even think about pulling away.

……………………………………………………………

**Review please.**


	4. four

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Nostalgia  
……………………………………………………………**

It was a beautiful day outside; the kind of day that, years ago, would have drawn all of the Weasley children out into the backyard for a round of Quidditch. The Burrow seemed strangely quiet today, and when Hermione climbed down stairs, she came upon an empty kitchen.

As she opened the door and walked outside, she remembered the days when this act alone meant danger. Was it really only a few years ago that a door could be opened only after proper passwords and identification had been given? She went days, weeks, even months without thinking of Voldemort or the terrible battle at Hogwarts, but it had once consumed her. There was a whole generation of children, already alive, who would never know Voldemort's name outside of a history book. It was amazing how quickly everything could change.

Hermione saw Ron lying on his back in the grass. She walked toward him almost on instinct; she found it amazing that even after all these years, her feet could still know the way to him. He must have sensed her, for he opened his eyes and sat up as she approached. She took a spot beside him and ran her hands over the soft blades of grass. She could hear the sound of Ginny's squeals off in the distance as Harry picked her up and threw her in the water.

'How long have they been together?' she asked. It felt strange to have missed out on such an important thing in the lives of two of her oldest and closest friends. She wondered how many other things she had missed, things that seemed so trivial that they would never waste time telling her about; things that she was desperate to hear, to know.

'Who knows,' said Ron vaguely. 'Years.' He did not seem ready to speak to her just yet, or perhaps he _was _ready but was instead unwilling. She wondered if he would ever be her friend again. She was about to get up and leave when he made his peace offering: 'They're engaged, you know.'

She was not sure why this affected her so much, but she felt her throat close up and her heart begin to race. Would she and Ron have ever gotten there, if things had played out differently? And would it really have been the best thing for either of them? 'Are they?'

'The wedding's in October,' he continued. 'You could – I bet Ginny could find a seat for you somewhere. If you wanted to come. I'm sure Harry would like you to be there.'

Harry's wedding was something that should have been important to her. It should have been an event that she would not want to miss for the world. And yet, more than anything, she felt uncomfortable with the idea of attending. Harry was her best friend and she was certainly glad and grateful for his happiness. She knew that nobody deserved a happy ending quite as much as he did. But she had no desire to celebrate with him, or to witness the celebration even from afar. There had been a point in her life when she would have been Ginny's maid-of-honour, when she would have stood up in front of everyone and given a beautiful toast. And as she sat in the backyard of a home in which she was no longer entirely welcome, with a boy to whom she no longer belonged, she realized that time was long gone.

'I'd like that,' Hermione said, but only because she did not want to offend anyone. She longed for a welcomed place here, even though she knew for certain she would never again find herself at The Burrow's doorstep.

**……………………………………………………………**

'Dear?' said Mrs Weasley, pulling Hermione out of her daze. 'The car is here.'

'Right,' Hermione said. She stood from the table and began to gather her things.

'Let me help you with those,' said Mr Weasley. He wore a mysterious grin on his face, one that – if possible – made Hermione even more nervous. 'I think you're really going to enjoy the car I've got for you, Hermione.'

She felt her stomach sink. Arthur held quite a fascination for Muggle appliances, but despite his good intentions, it usually did not end well.

Mrs Weasley glanced out the window and gasped. 'Arthur! What in the world –?' Hermione looked out over her shoulder and saw a black limousine parked out front, waiting for her. The driver was chatting with Harry while Ron, looking rather amazed, repeatedly opened and closed the trunk.

'Mr Weasley!' said Hermione. 'You didn't have to do this. Really. But it's wonderful.' She hugged Ron's parents and did her best not to cry while saying her goodbyes. As Mr Weasley carried her belongings to the car, Ginny came down the stairs and approached her.

'If an owl ever comes to me with a letter from you, I'll respond to it,' Ginny said. 'And if you're ever in town and contact me, I would be glad to meet you for lunch. But if I never hear from you again … well, I'm fine with that, too.'

It was the best she would get from Ginny, and far more than she had expected. Hermione thanked her, congratulated her once again on her engagement, and left the kitchen without another word. This time around, she was careful not to make a promise that she knew she probably wouldn't keep.

'It feels like you just got here,' Harry told her as he walked her out to the car.

'Are you kidding?' Hermione said lightly, glancing at The Burrow over her shoulder. 'It feels like I've been here for _ages_. Like I never even left, maybe.'

'You never did,' said Harry softly, seriously. 'You don't realize the kind of presence a person has until they're gone. But you … you're still everywhere.'

Hermione smiled at Harry and felt a pang of guilt. How could she not have set aside time to write him, time to come back here and visit? She had been so preoccupied with staying away from Ron that she had forgotten about the others. How could she have done that?

'Ginny … Merlin knows she isn't a very forgiving person …' he admitted uneasily. 'But I want you to know that to me, there's nothing to forgive. You were there for me when nobody else was. You picked me up when I was at my lowest, when I thought there was no way in hell I could make it past seventh year. You were my best friend, even during times when so much as loaning me a quill meant Death Eaters might be knocking down your door. And there's nothing you could do to me or to anyone else that could ever make me forget that. I don't want to lose touch again, but I understand that this place and these people are just reminders of a life that didn't work out the way you needed it to. So if I never hear from you again, I'll miss you terribly, but I could never think less of you because of it. Okay?'

Hermione had no response. She pulled Harry into her arms and breathed in his scent. This moment had made all of it worth it. She would not attend Harry's wedding; she did not have it in her to step back into her old life, even for another afternoon. But this boy – this _man_ – was her best friend and her brother, and he would always be. She remembered the time spent on the run from Voldemort, and how every moment she had been so desperately afraid that something or someone would take him away from her. How could she have learned to take him for granted?

'I love you,' she told him when they had separated. She knew she would never be able to say it enough. 'I'll see you soon. Really, I will. I promise.'

'I believe in you,' he said. She knew that he did, that he always had.

'Ready to go?' Ron said, approaching them.

Harry reached for Hermione's hand and squeezed it gently. 'Have a safe trip,' he said. 'You're always welcome here. Don't forget.'

'I won't,' Hermione said softly. She watched as Harry patted Ron on the back and left. 'I'd better get going,' she said awkwardly.

'Could I come?' Ron asked. It took her by such surprise that she did not immediately reply. 'I haven't been in a car in ages.'

'I'd like that,' Hermione said honestly. She climbed in, slid over, and Ron settled into the seat beside her. The driver began to pull away from The Burrow.

'Take one last look,' Ron said. He did not intend for his words to be rude or condescending, and she did not take them that way. Hermione twisted around and glanced over her shoulder. Harry and the Weasleys were standing in the yard to see her off. They all waved goodbye – even Ginny. Hermione leaned out the window and waved until they were so far down the road that she could no longer see the outline of their house. But she did not need to see them to know that they were all still waving too.

She noticed Ron watching her, and it made her heart ache.

'You still look at me the way you used to,' she said.

'And which way is that?' he asked.

'The way you used to. I don't know. You used to look at me like that and I used to think that there was no other boy in the world looking at any other girl in the world with quite the same look in his eyes.'

'There wasn't,' he said. 'It's easy to say that no other boy is ever going to love another girl the way I loved you, the way we loved each other. And in hindsight, we know that's not true – there are a million loves out there that are stronger, or better, or purer than ours was. But it never feels like that at the time, does it?' He sounded so much older, so much wiser. It made her feel sad and uncomfortable to know that his wisdom had grown out of his pain – pain she had caused him, pain they had caused each other.

'No,' she agreed, 'it never does. You were my first love, and it felt like nobody else in the world had ever felt quite as much for another as I did for you. I thought I was going to love you forever.'

'Forever turned out to be a lot shorter than we thought, eh?' He laughed, and then the look was gone.

'Ron,' she said. She grabbed his hand, needing him to know that she meant this. 'I was wrong about a lot of things back then. I can admit that now. But I was never wrong about us, or about loving you. I haven't stopped, and I can't imagine I ever will. I mean, is it even possible to really stop loving someone?'

'If I figure it out, I'll let you know,' he said. It was easier to speak, now, about the things that had gone wrong then.

She reached for the bottle of champagne. Once they both had a glass, she clinked hers against his in cheers. 'To love,' she said.

'Even when it isn't enough,' he added with a grin, and she smiled.

**……………………………………………………………**

When the limousine slowed to a stop and the driver came around to open Hermione's door for her, Ron felt incredibly rushed. The hour-long drive felt as though it had lasted five minutes, and now, suddenly too soon, it was time for Hermione to leave.

They got out of the car and Ron picked up her bag. 'Do you see him anywhere?' he asked, almost hoping that the dates had been mixed up and Hermione would have to stay an extra day or two. He was not looking for time in which to repair his relationship with her; but it had been so long since he had been able to call Hermione a friend, and now that she was again, he was not sure he wanted to let that go.

'There he is,' Hermione said. But instead of rushing over to him, she slowed her stride. 'Ron, I …'

She studied his expression, and Ron knew that she was trying to understand him. But he wasn't certain what – if anything – he was feeling. One part of him wanted nothing more than to leave now and spare himself the awkwardness of having to shake hands and make small talk with Jonathan. But another, larger part of him knew that he needed to meet this man. He could not let Hermione disappear again until he knew that she was not heading toward danger or disappointment or heartbreak.

'Ready?' he asked her, just to be sure. Looking at her now, seeing the way her bottom lip quivered, he was not sure that she was ready to leave him. And if the knot in his stomach was any indication, he was not entirely prepared for her departure either. Jonathan hadn't spotted them yet; they locked eyes, and for a fleeting second, they shared an incredible thought – _we could leave, just the two of us, and be halfway across the world before anyone noticed_. Images of what they'd once had – of what they could get back – swam through their minds in one hazy, endless moment. But then the moment fell away, and they remembered themselves. Hermione put on brave face, and Ron found that matching it was the least he could do.

'Let's get going,' she said after a long pause. Hermione had always been cautious – had always been the one to overanalyze every situation. If she was going to walk over there and go back to her other life, a life that did not include Ron or Harry or any of the rest of them … well, perhaps Ron would never like it, but he could at least rest assured that it was truly the best option for all of them.

He stayed half a step behind her and kept his eyes glued to Jonathan's back as they approached. When they were about twenty feet away, Jonathan turned around and spotted them. The change in his expression was immediate, and Ron recognized it all too well. They embraced in front of Ron, and he was not bothered by it; because he recognized the look on Hermione's face, too, and more than anything he was content in knowing she had found someone who could make her look like that again.

She introduced the two men hesitantly, but she had no reason to feel uncomfortable. Ron asked how Jonathan's journey to England had been, and Jonathan thanked him for taking care of Hermione. They spoke pleasantly for another minute or two, and then they all knew that the time had come.

Hermione looked at him with goodbye in her eyes, and even as she walked away for what was most definitely the last time, Ron found that he could smile.

**……………………………………………………………**

**The end!**


End file.
